


turned upside down

by ceruleanVulpine



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Halloween, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 23:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16464728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceruleanVulpine/pseuds/ceruleanVulpine
Summary: “What is that.”The wind rustles gently through polyester. Neal looks down at himself and back up. “It’s my Halloween costume,” he says, wounded. “I bought it. With money.”“Your — Neal, this is the FBI,” Peter snaps. “You’re not an elementary school teacher, you don’t have to dress up so the kids will like you.”“I know it’s the FBI! Look, I’m dressing the part.”---Neal has plenty of reasons why Halloween should appeal to everyone. They're a no-sell on Peter, mostly.





	turned upside down

Alarm bells go off in Peter’s brain the moment he catches sight of Neal outside the office, before he even gets a clear look. Neal isn’t wearing a suit, and that isn’t normal. Abnormal Neal behavior makes him twitchy. “Hey,” he says. “Neal. _Neal_ —” 

He grabs for Neal’s wrist, and his fingers close on air as Neal spins to face him, arms thrown out wide, and keeps walking, backwards, without missing a step. He’s wearing a plasticky-looking navy jacket with the sleeves cut off, absurdly bare-armed in the cold October air. “Good morning to you too,” he says.

“Stop,” says Peter.

Neal stops. 

“What is that.” 

The wind rustles gently through polyester. Neal looks down at himself and back up. “It’s my Halloween costume,” he says, wounded. “I bought it. With money.” 

“Your — Neal, this is the FBI,” Peter snaps. “You’re not an elementary school teacher, you don’t have to dress up so the kids will like you.” 

“I know it’s the FBI! Look, I’m dressing the part.” 

Things start to come into horrible focus as Neal points to the yellow FBI initials embroidered on his jacket (vest? sleeveless windbreaker abomination?), and then at the badge clipped to the other side. It’s a costume fake with a stock photo of a dark-haired man on it, which is almost a relief, because Peter wouldn’t have put it past Neal to make his own. But —

“This says ‘Agent Dick Utopia.’” 

Neal beams. 

“You’re not an FBI agent,” Peter says. It’s a reflex, at this point. 

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t find a _sexy FBI criminal consultant costume_ on short notice. We are tragically under-appreciated.” 

“Uh huh.” In Peter’s opinion, Neal has spent most of his life being appreciated much too much for all the wrong things. “If I told you to go back and change—“

“Oh, Peter, I wish I could, but I locked myself out.” And then, while Peter decides which part of this blatant lie to tackle first, he darts inside. 

*

“This is your fault.” 

Neal looks like he’s about to break out into joyful whistling. “People love Halloween! Everyone likes pretending to be something they aren’t sometimes. You know, Halloween has a lot in common with medieval festivals where the social order was turned upside down, sort of a pressure valve for people who felt restricted in their lives—”

For years, the practical, unchanging halls of the Bureau have been Peter’s refuge from the chaos of the holiday. (It’s not that he dislikes it. He just likes his routine more.) Now everyone he sees is wearing some sort of thrown-together costume or wacky accessory. He thinks he saw Hughes in a wizard hat. It’s unsettling. 

“Also, someone put up flyers for a costume contest.” Peter glares. “What? It’s a great opportunity for team bonding.” 

Everyone laughs at Neal’s costume, even Diana, and it is terrible. Peter’s mood only improves when El texts to say she’s getting off work early and coming to bring him leftovers, which she promises aren’t too fancy. He smiles at his phone. 

After that, he even manages an hour of mostly productive work on an insurance scam, pulling files and poring over them for inconsistencies, although their agent on loan keeps staring at Neal’s arms and Peter is distracted in turn. El’s arrival is welcome news — it almost always is — and Peter is happy to take a break, but when he sees her, he stops, confused.

“Okay, catch me up. Why are _you_ wearing a suit?” 

El looks disappointed. Peter’s heart sinks. “I mean, you look amazing,” he course-corrects. She does. Peter doesn’t know fashion, but you’d have to be blind not to see how well black works for El, making her hair look darker and her eyes even bluer. Then, finally, his keen investigative mind catches up. “Right, Halloween, I get it. But I, uh. Don’t know…” 

“Aw, come on,” says Neal, appearing behind him to hang off his shoulder. “It’s easy.” 

“I couldn’t find a hat,” El says to Neal, frowning. “Wait, let me fix my hair.” She sweeps her hair back from her forehead, gathers it at the back of her neck to hide how long it is, and gives Peter a wide-eyed, innocent look. “Antioch manuscripts? What Antioch manuscripts? I was nowhere near the _alleged_ forgeries, Agent Burke.” 

Neal points at her in wordless delight. Something in Peter’s brain fizzles and short-circuits. 

“I offered to lend her the anklet, but she said no,” Neal says, conspiratorially. 

“Oh. Good.” 

Neal looks disappointed. He pats Peter on the shoulder. “I’m going to go look at more numbers. Lovely to see you, Elizabeth.” 

El watches Neal go back to dazzling Agent Gill and laughs. “Is he jealous?” Then she pulls a concerned face. “Is this too weird?”

“What? No. Maybe.” Peter shakes his head to clear it, leaning against his desk and crossing his arms. “Neal’s not jealous, he just doesn’t like not being the center of attention.” 

El settles next to him. “Are you imagining me as a master criminal?” 

“Mm.”

She leans closer. “Think you could bring yourself to arrest me?” 

“Yes,” says Peter, without hesitating, and then grimaces because he’s pretty sure that’s the wrong answer, or at least the wrong answer to give immediately. But El just laughs.

“Good,” she says. “But.” 

“But?”

“I’m crafty.” 

El reaches up to touch the edge of his jaw, fingers light, and Peter is just about to protest that they’re at work when her other hand comes around with a quickness Neal would be proud of and sticks something to his face. 

Peter reaches up and feels the stupid fuzzy fake mustache he’s been stuck with. “El,” he says, outraged and betrayed. She dances back a step, out of reach, and waves as she makes a break for the elevator. 

There’s a click as Neal takes his goddamn photo. “You guys are so cute,” he says. Peter pulls off the mustache and throws it at him. “I’m declaring you the honorary winner of the costume contest.”

“Stop corrupting my wife.”

“It’s mutual. I’m learning a lot.” 

Neal ghosts his fingertips along the same path El followed, as careful as he ever is when lifting something valuable. Then he winks and disappears. 

Peter rubs his jaw and stares after him. Tomorrow the world will go back to normal, he thinks. But this isn’t so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u sarah for the idea for el's costume. ALSO, i did actually see a costume with the name 'agent dick utopia' at spirit halloween, although it was sexy police and not sexy fbi. so, enjoy knowing that exists. 
> 
> discovering this show like seven years late has been excellent; it's so cozy!


End file.
